Following the Light of the Sun
by Jcon52
Summary: The revelation of "A Brave New World" has changed the world and set several lives spinning into disarray. In attempts to shape the world for the better, several characters risk life and limb. The worlds of these characters intersect from a strange magnetism that pulls them into the lives of the others'.
1. Chapter 1

**So with this story I'm trying to mimic the style of the show with several main characters with separate story arcs that coincide, intersect, and interact. Just as a warning, with stories I sometimes get bored with them and never finish them so I'm trying really hard not to do it with this one. I'm already about three chapters in so I'll try to post every other day in an attempt to stay ahead. Anyway, I hope you guys like it, let me know what you think.**

I threw myself over the kitchen island and pulled myself into a ball as I listened for footsteps. Hearing nothing for a few minutes, I pulled myself up and looked around. The kitchen was lit only by the moonlight that poured in from the windows and it smelled slightly of something burnt. I slowly walked through the hall, my feet quietly stepping on the hard oak floors.

I moved towards the door and upon reaching it I slid the chain back and turned the door. As I pulled the door open, an invisible force shut it closed with a loud slam. Spinning around my eyes darted towards the end of the hall where a dark figure was standing, feet planted on the ground and one arm outstretched.

"I told you no. Leave me the fuck alone," I spat, taking a small step forwards. As I waited there, glaring at the figure, I heard a low chuckle begin to come from next to me. I threw myself into the TV room, away from the chuckle, and hid behind the wall, "Who are you people?"

"Tara, that wasn't very nice now was it?" one of them taunted, and I heard footsteps coming closer, the sound becoming amplified by the empty walls, "We want to talk to you, that's all. We talk, you listen. Five minutes tops."

"When most people want to talk they use the phone, or even the doorbell. They don't break into my fucking house in the middle of the night," I replied, and they both laughed, lightly. "Tell me who you are or get out."

Silence descended upon the house and I sat there, listening to their heavy breathing, trying to figure my way out. These two thugs had burst into my house ten minutes ago and kicked down my door, but they hadn't robbed or hurt me, yet.

"Fine, we're part of a group called Rebel," the other voice began, it was a woman with a very raspy voice, probably a heavy smoker, "We've identified you as a…. sympathetic party. We want you to join us."

"Rebel?" I asked and alarms went off in my head, my body became paralyzed with fear, "Why does that sound familiar?"

"We've had some bad press recently," the man explained, as he continued to talk I felt fear turn into adrenaline and I slowly stood up. Moving through the TV room I headed for the back door, slowly placing my feet on the hardwood. Just as I reached the back door my body suddenly became immobilized.

"Shit," I muttered as my body was lifted into the air and turned around to face the two intruders. They both appeared to be in their mid thirties, decked out in dark clothes, with matching sneering smiles. The man had dark brown hair with deep brown eyes, he had a large nose that seemed to have been broken at some point in his life. The woman had red hair that fell down to her shoulders with iridescent green eyes. The man walked towards me and gave me a poke, sending me a couple of inches backwards.

"I guess you might know who we are," the man chuckled, his voice gravelly and deep, "Watch the news I suppose. But we know that you do not know who you are. You're one of us, one of the evolved."

"The thing is," I retorted, feeling a familiar heat spreading down my arms and gathering in my hands, "I know who I am. And what."

The two looked at each other before a wild swirling of red fire shot from my hands engulfing the room. As they dove away I felt the force that had been holding me in place release and I could once again move. I shut down the heat running to my hands and looked around. The room was on fire and the heat was quickly building, but I saw neither of the Rebel agents. Turning around I slammed open the door and ran outside.

My backyard had begun to fill with an orange light as the fire spread to other parts of the house, the grass lit in an eerie way. I looked around, but I was alone in the yard, the agents seemed to have disappeared. Not wasting any more time, I ran towards the fence and hopped over it, finding myself in my neighbor's yard. As I ran out into the street I whipped out my phone and punched in a number I had memorized.

"They came," I whispered, my hands shaking, "You were right. They came."

"We'll pick you up. Stay hidden."

_**One Month Earlier**_

I rolled out of bed, the light of dawn streaming in, and I quietly walked downstairs and into kitchen. As I stood making coffee I thought back to the dream I had woken from, it was the same I had been having for months now. I was walking through an inferno of fire, the flames licking at me, but never burning me. I would walk for what would seem like hours, but never move, and then I would wake up in a hot sweat early in the morning.

As I sipped on the steaming mug of coffee I turned on the small TV that rested on the corner. The early morning news was filled with fluff pieces on various cute animal stories so I turned from the TV and looked out the window over the sink. The yard was filled with an early morning fog that settled on the grass and moved slightly in the summer breeze.

"And in the aftermath of the latest attack by the terrorist group, Rebel, there have been increased calls for the increased identification of so called 'specials' by both sides of the aisle," the soft voice of the newswoman broke my concentration and my head shot up, staring at the TV, "The attack had been on the offices of Senator Jeff Richmond of New York, while the Senator had not been in the offices at the time, but there have been three confirmed deaths and 6 injured."

The woman then went back to some political entente and I lost interest once again. I turned off the TV and picked my mug of coffee back up and grimaced, it had gone cold. I took a deep breath and concentrated, bringing to mind the light heat of a candle and felt the heat flow from my chest and into my hands. The mug began to heat slowly until the coffee was once again steaming and the scent of fresh brewed coffee wafted into my nose once more.

"That's a pretty neat trick," a voice pointed out from behind me and I spun around to see Henry, one of my coworkers that I had never talked to before. He was leaning casually against the doorway, smirking at me. My mind went blank as I stared at him, I had been so careful, so quiet.

Henry had ashy blond hair and a casual smirk on his face, as if we were sharing in on an inside joke. He was wearing a black suit, just like we were at a business meeting, rather than being in my kitchen at 5 in the morning. He looked so intimidating, but for no reason at all.

"Henry! That… That was uh… Just uh," I stumbled trying to say something that even resembled a sentence, my voice cracking. I just stopped talking and stared helplessly at him, my eyes pleading.

"Calm down Tara, I know what you are," he replied casually walking forward and resting his arms on the island, "I've known for some time now."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I retorted and he just raised one eyebrow, "Fine. How did you know? And what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen? It's like five in the morning."

"I'm like you," he explained, reaching his hand out and from behind me a spoon shot to his hand and then began to twirl it around in his hand, "And I work for a group who identifies evolved humans in order to protect them, in any way possible."

I smirked at him and let out a little laugh, "I don't need to be protected, I can do that by myself."

I opened my palm up and took a deep breath, staring intensely at my palm until a small flame flared up and danced across my hand, leaving a tingling feeling. The flame whipped around violently in the small draft, threatening to go out at any second. I looked at him, smugly, but Henry seemed unimpressed and I closed my hand cutting off the heat.

"You think that will save you? You've seen nothing yet," he replied, laughing at me. I glared at him, embarrassed and he just laughed even harder, a throaty rumble.


	2. Here Comes The Rain

**Hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter, let me know how this one is.**

_**Six Months Later**_

"Ms. Bennet, you have the Senate hearing on Tuesday and a press conference right after that," a hurried aide read off, struggling to keep up with the fast pace of Claire Bennet who was rushing through the marbled halls, her heels clicking against the floor.

"Thank you, James, that's all, you can leave early," Claire replied as she walked into the office and closed the door. The office was a large room with floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto the D.C. skyline. She sat behind an imposing wooden desk, her eyes glued to her Blackberry as she scrolled through the emails flooding her inbox.

"We have a problem," a voice called from the corner of the room. In a plush, red, leather chair sat a tall blond haired woman with a worried expression plastered across her face and a small puddle of water surrounding her feet.

"Tracy," Claire said, not looking up from her phone, "I told you that you can't pop into my office like this. I have appearances to keep up. We need to have this meetings at my apartment, if I'm seen with you it could set back all we're working for."

"Claire, I know how politics works, I used to be in it, but that doesn't change that we still have a problem," Tracy retorted, frustration filling in her voice, "Rebel is ramping up their recruitment and Homeland Security is increasing their busts. We're struggling to keep up with them, we running out of places and funds to keep hiding people."

Claire put her phone on her desk and put her hands to her temples, rubbing them slightly. Tracy stood up and walked forward, sitting down in an uncomfortable wooden chair and stared intensely at her.

"I can get you the funds, but Homeland Security is another issue, I'm meeting with the court on Tuesday to try and get an injunction against these raids," Claire explained look at Tracy, "My contact in the FBI says they're just as stumped with Rebel as we are. Every attempt they've made to document their activities have been deleted, they're now resorting to all paper and no technology."

Tracy pursed her lips and look very concerned, "Micah is planning something, he's never been this active before. I think we may need to activate our agents, we need to do more."

Claire stared at Tracy with blank eyes and a stony face, thoughts obviously racing through her mind. Her hands were clenching her desk, her knuckles turning white.

Through gritted teeth, Claire said, "We need to take him out, he's the key to this. You and I are going to Virginia, we're no longer going to be victims."

As Tracy opened her mouth to respond, a crackling came over the phone and the intercom turned on "Ms. Bennet? There's a 'West Rosen' here to see you. Should I send him away?"

Claire's head shot up and anger flooded into her eyes, but her finger reached out and pressed the intercom button, "No, send him in."

Claire reached into her top drawer, pulled out a large silver handgun, cocked it, and then laid it down in her lap, her right hand gently resting upon it, "Tracy, you should leave. Now."

"No, I'm staying. Who is he?" Tracy demanded, standing up now, her fists were clenched at her side and her eyes were glowing intensely.

"I said leave. Now." Claire ordered, her teeth clenched, without another word Tracy dissolved into a mass of water and then it quickly seeped away. Just as the last drop of water slipped away the door opened and in walked a man.

This man was completely different from the young man that Claire remembered being West. This man was tall and muscular and there was a hardness in his face that had not been there before, it had replaced the boyish charm he had once exuded. He was wearing a dark blue suit that made him look even older, and even more tired than he had ever before. West calmly ambled into the office and sat down on the chair, as if he were greeting an old friend, he folded his hands in his lap and looked up at Claire, waiting for Claire to speak.

"West," Claire paused before she spoke again, carefully choosing her words, "What are you doing here?"

West smiled at her amicably and replied, "Claire! Nice to see you too! Now are we both going to pretend that gun in your lap isn't there?"

Claire grimaced as she pulled the gun up and placed it on her desk, but she kept her hand gently resting on it, her finger playing at the trigger. She looked back up at West who had pulled aside his jacket to reveal his own gun resting in a holster, she smirked at him.

"We both know that only one us will get hurt if it comes to a gunfight so don't try and intimidate me," Claire taunted him, but it didn't seem to phase West who continued to smile at her.

"You know, it's much harder to get a meeting with you than one would think, especially for an old friend!" He exclaimed sarcastically, "But we really must talk about your efforts to against Rebel. The 'poster child' for the movement of integration. Specials being equal to normal, all that. We're going to need you to stop."

"I'll stop when you do," Claire retorted and stood up grabbing the gun, walking around to the other side of the desk and leaned it against it, "Rebel used to do good, you used to help people like us. Now you're murderers. Terrorists. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now."

West smirked as he stared at the barrel of the gun that was now pointing straight at him, "Well, if I die then my associates might slip and detonate those charges placed at the bottom of this building, killing… Hmm… I don't even know how many people."

Claire showed no emotion while West threatened her, she merely placed her gun to the side and moved her hand away from it. Claire now folded her arms and glared at West, her body soaked in anger.

"Wasn't it only four years ago that you and I were flying in California? But look at us now. You're running around in Washington, playing politics, and me a-"

"A mass murderer?" Claire spat out, but West merely plowed on, irritation flashing quickly across his face.

"I was going to say an activist, but," West shrugged, as if it couldn't be helped, "Now, this is your last warning, stop what you're doing or we will find a way to stop you. You can't be killed but we do have very… Creative people working for us."

With that West stood up, buttoned his jacket, and walked out the door, his loafers clacking against the floor. Claire stood up and walked back around to her desk and picked up her phone quickly punching in a number as she sat down. As the phone rang she pulled the gun over to her and placed it in her purse.

"Yes?" A soft voice answered, sounding rushed.

"Meet at the usual spot in an hour," Claire said standing up and grabbing the purse, "It's important."

A click on the other end signaled the end of the call and Claire walked out of the office, trying to compose herself.


	3. When It Rains It Pours

**So I'm planning on this story being mostly OC, but with some characters from the show. Let me know how you like this chapter.**

I took a deep breath as I pointed the gun forward, both hands were clasped tight around it and I stared straight down the barrel. The cool metal tingling in my warm hands, I slowly pulled the trigger until I felt the familiar kickback as I repeatedly fired down the range until the gun clicked, indicating the end of the magazine. As I put the gun down I flipped the switch the target whirred towards me and I examined it. The holes were centered almost exclusively in the center of the chest, but for one that had drifted towards the drawing's neck.

I grimaced at the drawing, even though it was merely paper I still remained uneasy shooting it. This entire place made me uneasy, the sheer size of it was startling, but the overwhelming feeling that I was in some type of army stayed with me constantly. We stayed in dormitories separated by gender, with long rows of beds, covered in drab, gray sheets. Essentially we were in boot camp. But after the months of seeing increasingly violent attacks on people by Rebel this was the only place I felt safe.

"Nice shot," a lilting British voice said next to me and I looked over at Henry and smiled. I looked over at his and while all the shots had hit the target it was a jumble of shots covering the target.

"Wish I could say the same to you," I jabbed at him and he laughed lightly, but stopped when two people walked past on the catwalk above us, his face turned serious as he watched them continue on. I recognized Daniel, the leader of the Safehouse, but the other woman only had the back of her head in sight.

"Who is she?" I asked, craning my neck to get a better look, but I only saw a flash of blond hair before they disappeared through another door.

"It's Claire Bennet," he whispered, in awe, "I had heard rumors that she was involved with us, but I hadn't imagined it was true."

"Bennet?" I asked, still staring at where they had disappeared, "As in the girl who exposed us? She's working here too?"

"I don't think she's working here, Tara," Henry replied, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper and darting around a few looks, "I think _here_ works for her, she must be in charge. And if she's showing up now that must mean something big is happening."

I turned around and set up a new target before sending it back to the end of the range and reloading my gun. Just as I leveled the gun the loudspeakers blared "Coen, report to the office immediately."

I put the gun down and looked around, the rest of the range was looking at me as I put my gear down. I looked over at Henry who was smiling at me, "Looks like you may get to find out about Bennet."

I jogged up the stairs and walked through the large, converted warehouse and went up a second set of stairs. As I walked along the catwalk above the first floor I dried my hands on my jeans, wiping them nervously. When I reached the large, steel door I hesitated before knocking on the door.

"Come in," a voice called and I pushed the heavy door open and walked in.

Sitting at the desk was Claire Bennet, the young woman who had been continually gracing my TV for the past three years. Standing behind her was Daniel, the middle aged man who was running the training. I walked forward and hesitated before the desk, unsure of what to do. The two of them had been looking at a file folder with several sheets of paper inside, and what looked to be a picture.

"Sit," Claire offered, motioning with her hand and I gingerly sat on the metallic chair, "I assume you know who I am."

"Claire Bennet," I replied, coolly, studying her; Claire looked to be a few years younger than me, but I knew we were the same age. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight bun that tugged at her face. She was wearing a smart, pinstripe suit that appeared to be a claim of maturity, "I'm a little surprised to see you _here_ though."

"Tara," Daniel began, moving forward slightly, his voice filled with urgency, his eyes darting from side to side, "Claire is the one who started this… organization. She was the first to recognize where Rebel was heading and move to stop it, but we've had to keep her participation secret, even from you, to prevent the other side of the war from being affected."

Silence descended upon us as I let the new information sink in. I looked at Daniel and his gray eyes studied me intensely, "Why are you telling me this?"

"We need you to break out of Homeland Security's Detention Center," Claire replied, her face made of stone, "And take one of their prisoners with you."

I stared at them, my brain struggling to grasp what Claire had just said. The Detention Center was Homeland Security's dumping ground for the most dangerous of the specials, a key issue in the political arena. There were constant rumors of the deplorable states the prisoners were kept in, but the government merely cited the unique position the powers of the prisoners put them in.

"…What?" I finally managed to ask, still trying to wrap my mind around it.

"Rebel has been mobilizing and increasing their recruitment over the past few months, they're planning something and we need to find out what they're doing. We need somebody on the inside," Claire explained, her face tight and her words slow, "The prisoner you're going to break out is Bennet Fields, he's one of Rebel's top men, but he got caught one month ago by Homeland. You're going to get arrested and then break him out."

_**20 Minutes Earlier**_

Claire walked into the office and sat down in the small office chair, sitting behind the desk. Crossing her legs and pulling a strand of blond hair behind her ear she situated herself before grabbing the file folder in front of her. She examined the pages, flipping through them for a few minutes before looking at the man in front of her.

"Why her?" Claire asked, staring at Daniel, her blue eyes seemingly piercing his mind.

Daniel hesitated before answering her and a bead of sweat formed on his forehead. Even though he was almost twenty years older than Claire, she possessed an intimidating air about her that she wore like a cloak. This intimidating air wasn't unfounded either; in the past few years she had proved herself to be a dangerous player in both politics and the subterfuge that had arisen between various groups.

"There's something about her," Daniel replied, carefully choosing his words, "She's just as good as any of the more senior operatives that we have and she's powerful enough for a mission like this."

Claire went back to looking through the file before she responded, "I don't need 'just as good' for this, I need your best. She hasn't even been out on a recovery mission."

Daniel moved towards the desk and planted his palms on the hard wood, "Claire, I'm telling you this girl is the real deal. She's the best I have, the best anyone has. That's why Rebel sent Myles and Anne, those two never go out for regular recovery missions, they know it too. She's our best hope."

Claire looked at him, considering her options. She trusted Daniel more than he would ever know, but reserved her judgment, "How can you be sure? What do you see in her?"

Daniel moved back and sat down in one of the wooden chairs sitting in front of the desk, "I see you in her."


	4. In The Eye

Agent Davidson glared at the young man in front of him, his eyes pouring unadulterated anger at the man. Meanwhile, the young man merely looked at him, smirking, as if he was sharing in on an inside joke. They had been in this room for over an hour, but it seemed like eternity with the young man constantly mocking Agent Davidson.

"Agent Davidson," the young man drawled, dropping a slight Southern twang, "I could really use some water, I'm getting quite parched."

"Shut the fuck up, Fields," Davidson spat, red rising in his face, "You need to start talking or shit is going to get a lot worse for you than it already is. I'm going to leave you alone to think on this for a bit, I expect you to be more cordial."

With that, Agent Davidson walked out of the room and into the hallway, lit with harsh fluorescent bulbs. He moved down the hallway and stepped into a sparsely decorated office lined with glass walls. Sitting down in his chair, Agent Davidson placed his head in his hands and let out a quiet groan.

"I assume Fields is giving you nothing," a deep voice growled and Davidson raised his head and looked towards his visitor. Senator Jeff Richardson was standing in the doorway, his large frame taking up most of the space. As he walked forward, Agent Davidson could see the remnants of large muscles, memories of Richmond's years in the Marines, that had begun to go soft, but the hard look of a man who has seen terrible things remained.

"Sir," Davidson began, snapping up, "He refuses to talk, no one has been able to break him. We believe that Rebel has trained him in government interrogation techniques."

"Well," Richmond began, walking forward, his body language oozes confidence. When he reached Davidson's desk he picked up a picture frame containing a photo of a young, teenage girl beaming, "I guess we may have to use more creative techniques."

Davidson furrowed his brow and stared at the Senator, unsure, "Sir, we've exhausted all legal means of interrogation that are used in the Department, he's just not talking."

Richmond put the picture back down on the desk and looked at Davidson for a moment, his eyes piercing Davidson, "Congress has temporarily suspended the laws involving interrogation techniques in this case, we understand the urgency in getting the information out of Fields, we're giving you full rein. We expect results."

With that ultimatum hanging in the air between the two men, Senator Richmond walked out of the room, an air of superiority following him. Agent Davidson sat back down and placed his face back in his hands. As he slowly lifted his head up, his eyes were pulled towards the picture of his daughter and he felt a stone drop in his stomach. Her emerald eyes, which she got from her mother, were shining with love and optimism, a looked he had missed seeing in the preceding few weeks from the suddenly withdrawn girl. He sighed as he turned the picture around, facing the door, and picked up the phone, punching in an extension number.

"Yeah, it's Agent Davidson, I need you to send up Myles to Interrogation Room 1," he ordered before hanging up the phone and standing up. As Davidson walked towards the interrogation room, he cracked his knuckles individually, the sound echoing slightly in the empty hallway.

Davidson took one final breath to steel himself before he opened the door and walked into the steel walled room to see Fields sitting in his seat, casually, or as casually as a man who was handcuffed could. Davidson pulled out the metal chair in front of the table and sat down roughly, the impact making a slight thud.

"Agent Davidson!" Fields exclaimed, his face feigning surprise, "And here I was thinking that you had gone home for the day!"

Davidson said nothing, but merely released a slight growl, and glared at the prisoner, waiting. Eventually the door opened once again and in walked a man in his early thirties, dressed in a dark suit, looking to be the stereotypical federal agent. He walked in and stopped behind Agent Davidson, glaring at Fields as well.

"Fields, I've brought you a friend to play with, he's one of you," Davidson began and Fields looked up at the new man, his eyes sparked with interest, "You're going to have a bit of fun with Agent Anderson."

Agent Anderson walked forward and held his hand out, palm down, over the steel table until a small drop of green liquid dripped down. As all three men watched, the table suddenly began to bubble and smoke, until a hole about an inch wide had formed in the table. Fields looked up at Davidson and his eyes were filled with something new, fear, perhaps.

"Now, now, now," Fields clucked, trying to sound nonchalant, but something new had entered his voice, "We both know that this would violate several of my Constitutional rights, I'm not new to this game."

Agent Anderson let out a low, sadistic chuckle as Davidson retorted, "We know that you're not new to this Fields, but it seems that Congress has deemed you to be a special case, we're going to be able to try all these new, fun techniques with you."

Fields' head shot up and glared at Agent Davidson, his eyes suddenly filled with pure hatred. Agent Anderson stepped forward, his face filled with malice, and held out his hand once more. The three men watched as Anderson's hand began to slowly turn green at the liquid collect in his palm. Anderson looked over at Davidson who, after hesitating for a moment, nodded his head slowly.

"Traitor," Fields spat before the two agents were thrown up towards the ceiling, quickly followed by the steel table that pinned them against the concrete. A scream ripped through the room followed by the hiss of burning skin.

"Code Blue!" Agent Davidson roared and a sudden, piercing siren began sounding. The room went dark, soon followed by three thuds on the ground and then dead silence, as nothing in the room moved.

"Anderson," Davidson called through the darkness, his voice shaking slightly, "Anderson, answer."

Davidson was soon answered by a low, whining moan coming from the corner and as the lights slowly turned back on Davidson looked over. In the corner, curled into the fetal position, was Anderson, his suit now almost completely eroded, covered in burns. Fields, meanwhile, was slumped over in his chair, still in the center of the room, looking as if he had dozed off for a couple of minutes. As Davidson pulled himself towards the sobbing agent the door burst open and in swarmed a battalion of agents, all outfitted in combat armor.

_**2 Days Later**_

"WHO THE FUCK WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR FIELDS' DRUG LEVELS?!" Roared Davidson, his face bright red and veins bulging in his neck. Davidson's right arm was resting in a sling and his left eye purple and bruised. He was screaming at a team of three young agents all of whose heads were hanging down, every eye carefully studying the rivets in the carpet. "We now have an agent with severe burns covering his body. So I'm going to ask you again, who was responsible?"

"Sir," one of the young men began, his voice cracking slightly, "We kept him at the same levels as was prescribed, and we believe that a resistance is being built against the drug. We were also unaware that only Anderson's hands were immune to his acid."

"Double his dose," Davidson barked, his face still filling with red anger, "I don't want this shit to happen again. Make sure the rest of the prisoners are just as doped up, we're cracking down. And send another special in; we need to have some more fun with Fields.

The three agents scurried out of the office, all with heads still bent down, and shot off in different directions, hurrying to follow Davidson's orders.


End file.
